The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge novel Chapter 74

“Of course—”

………

Lately, Curtis had seemed off at their get-togethers—distracted, distant, hardly trying to hide his disinterest.

While McNeil, Isaac, and Marcus were off playing pool, Violet spoke up, her tone casual but her words pointed.

“Actually, Victoria’s marriage is a mess. From what I’ve heard, her husband’s seeing someone else.”

Curtis, despite his feelings for Victoria, had never been one for gossip. Still, if Violet wanted to talk, he’d listen.

“He doesn’t care about her,” Violet continued. “And honestly, he and that other woman? They’ve known each other since they were kids, high school sweethearts. Victoria was the one who came between them. And from what I’ve heard, the other woman’s got everything going for her—she’s sharp, ambitious, way out of Victoria’s league.”

Curtis bristled at the criticism. He didn’t like hearing people badmouth Victoria. The truth was, all of them had grown up with Violet; she was practically family.

But even so, Violet’s words didn’t sit right with him.

“Victoria’s… great,” Curtis said quietly.

In his eyes, nobody compared to Victoria.

Even Violet, once the object of all their affections, seemed dull in comparison now.

Back when they were younger, Violet had been their collective crush—the unattainable girl every guy dreamed about. It wasn’t just McNeil; Curtis and the others had all harbored those feelings, too.

But Violet had eventually chosen McNeil. The rest of them—brothers, really—had let those feelings go, treating her like a sister ever since.

Curtis used to think meeting Violet was what love felt like. It wasn’t until he first laid eyes on Victoria that he realized how naïve he’d been. That bolt of lightning he’d felt—he’d carry that memory with him forever.

Violet glanced at Curtis, her gaze lingering. She felt a pang she couldn’t quite name.

Curtis was defending Victoria now. Funny—he used to be so protective of her.

Marcus shot Max a look. Normally, the boy was pretty mild-mannered; today, he was on edge.

Gwyneth, meanwhile, looked smug. “I am not cheating. You just can’t handle losing. Maybe you’d do better if you had someone as good as Ms. Marchand to help you. She’s a real racecar driver—she’s the one who helped me get good at this. So it’s not weird that I beat you.”

Her voice faltered a little at the mention of Violet’s coaching—she couldn’t exactly bring up her mom in front of everyone. But it was true: Violet had been the one to teach her how to play these competitive games.

Face flushed with frustration, Max tried to argue, but Marcus gently pulled him back.

“Alright, that’s enough. It’s just a game. Don’t take it so seriously.”

Gwyneth, undeterred, pointed at Max, a mischievous grin on her face. “You just can’t stand losing! If you think you’re so good, beat me—unless you can find someone as awesome as Ms. Marchand to coach you. Come on, admit it. You just can’t take losing!”

McNeil watched Gwyneth sticking her tongue out at Max, her pride written all over her face. He ruffled her hair with a smile.

“Okay, that’s enough sass. Say sorry to your friend.”